The Legend Of Love Page 27

  His hands roaming possessively over her, his mouth never leaving her tingling flesh, he kissed her throat, her pale shoulders, her hard pink nipples, slipping to one knee before her. Elizabeth’s nervous fingers went into his dark hair at the sides of his head. She pressed his hot face to her, luxuriating in the wild joy of his wet, warm mouth sucking so violently on her aching, swollen breasts.

  She pushed her breast more fully against that marvelous hot mouth, longing to have him draw as much of the pale rounded flesh as possible inside. She was sure he sensed it when his hand slid up, cupped and lifted her breast, and his mouth opened wider. In frenzied delight she watched as more and more of her full white breast disappeared into his flexing brown jaws.

  In seconds she was so weak with pleasure her legs wouldn’t support her. She urged his dazzling mouth away and slid to her knees facing him. Again they kissed and as they anxiously embraced, they sank together to the plush beige carpet.

  Elizabeth felt his hard nakedness against her, felt the animal heat of him pressing her down. His hands moved enticingly over her body, one going to the downy auburn triangle. Her hands were just as bold. Her shaky fingers found and wrapped themselves around his awesome erection.

  The explosively hot pair spent only a few seconds in play, he caressing her, urging her legs further and further apart, she simply clinging, holding him tightly as though afraid he might take that throbbing power away from her.

  In the next second, he did exactly that.

  But then he gave it back.

  Driven beyond endurance by the touch of her naked body, West quickly positioned himself between Elizabeth’s widely parted legs, gripped himself, and thrust into her, the hot wetness supplied by her receptive body making it incredibly easy for him to slide deeply into her.

  Their gazes locked. Her fingers curled around his hard biceps. She pulled him down to her, tilted her pelvis more fully to his, and enveloped him in warmth and sweetness. They made wordless sounds and clung to each other.

  Violently, they mated on the plush beige carpet. West drove forcefully into her with the quickness and urgency of a young boy. Elizabeth was just as delirious. She drew her knees up, wrapped her long, slender legs tightly around his back to press him closer, loving the exquisite pain-pleasure of his driving so fast and forcefully into her.

  In seconds it was over.

  Together they exploded into riotous climax. So turbulent, so stirring was their shared orgasm, the sounds of their mutual joy might have awakened the entire household had they not muted the noise by kissing. When the deep fulfillment began, West saw Elizabeth’s beautiful blue eyes widening in shock and hurriedly kissed her. Into his mouth she cried out in her ecstasy while he groaned with his own shuddering rapture.

  When it was over they broke apart and lay on their backs, panting for breath. The thundering of their heartbeats began to slow, the involuntary jerking of their limbs ceased. For a few seconds more they stayed as they were.

  Then, reality intruded harshly. Logical thought returned. Disbelief struck.

  Two naked people who had just been the most intimate of lovers felt suddenly ill at ease. Ashamed. Disgusted. Sorry for what they had done.

  West coughed needlessly, rolled to a sitting position, picked up Elizabeth’s aqua gown and draped it between her pale legs. Her knees closed around it and she folded her arms over her bare breasts.

  Turning away, West picked up his black satin robe. Seated on the beige carpet, he shoved long arms into the sleeves, pulled the robe around himself and tied the sash at his waist.

  He warily glanced at her. She, too, had sat up. Turned away from him, she was pulling the aqua gown down over her head. West rose quietly to his feet. Elizabeth settled the gown down over her hips and cautiously stood up.

  She turned to face him. For a long moment they stared at each other, but neither spoke. West started toward the double doors. Elizabeth stayed where she was as he walked away. He reached the open portal and didn’t pause to turn and look at her. He walked out into the night and disappeared back into the darkness from which he had come exactly fifteen minutes earlier.

  In that fifteen minutes they had made fast, wild love, and had not spoken one word to each other.

  For a long while after West left her, Elizabeth continued to stand in the shadowy room, unmoving, unfeeling, telling herself it couldn’t be true. This hadn’t really happened. It had all been a dream, a wicked nightmare. She hadn’t actually writhed naked on the floor of Doña Hope’s desert home with West Quarternight.

  All at once Elizabeth was in motion. She flew across the room, pulled the tall doors shut, and locked them. Then stood there trembling uncontrollably, knowing it was a foolish wasted gesture.

  It was too late. Too late to lock him out of her room. Too late to lock him out of her body. It was not, she told herself, too late to lock him out of her heart.

  33

  AGAIN DRESSED IN HER suede rust trousers, pullover shirt, and soft beaded moccasins, Elizabeth nervously walked into the small dining room at Doña Hope’s Rancho Caballo.

  “Well, there she is now!” boomed Grady Downs, and Elizabeth felt herself being scrutinized by the beaming Grady, a silent Taos, the patient Edmund, and an inquisitive Doña Hope. “You enjoyed the nice soft bed so much you didn’t want to get out of it this morning, eh, missy?” Grady asked, his pink lips stretching into a wide smile between his white mustache and flowing beard.

  A blue linen napkin tucked into the opening of his buckskin shirt, Grady hurried to pull out a chair for Elizabeth as Taos and Edmund respectfully rose to their feet.

  From the head of the table, Doña Hope, looking glamorous and self-assured even at this early hour, said pointedly, “We were beginning to wonder about you and West.”

  Elizabeth felt her face burn. Scooting up close to the table, she glanced at Doña Hope, smiled, and said, “Grady’s right, Doña. The bed in your guest room was so comfortable, I was reluctant to get up.” She reached for a freshly poured cup of strong black coffee, hoping no one noticed the slight trembling of her hand.

  “I’m glad you found your accommodations to be adequate,” said Doña Hope, her heavily lashed brown eyes remaining on Elizabeth. “Do you suppose West was as content with his?”

  Not sure if the keenly astute Doña Hope somehow knew the awful truth or if the blond widow was merely making conversation, Elizabeth took a long spine-stiffening drink of coffee, carefully set the cup back in its saucer, and replied, “Well, now, Doña Hope, I suppose you would know a great deal more about that than I.” Sweetly she smiled, and added, “The rancho’s accommodations, I mean.”

  Doña Hope, just like Elizabeth, was determined she would keep up a false front. Telling herself that everyone—including Elizabeth Curtin—believed that West had spent the night in her big white bedroom, she gave Elizabeth a knowing smile, shook her blond head, and said, as if slightly embarrassed, “I told West we were fooling no one.” She laughed girlishly, and added, “He worries about my reputation more than I.” Her glance swept around the table. “I assured him that you are all adult and not the least bit shocked by the close relationship that has existed between the two of us”—she paused, her gaze purposely returning to Elizabeth—“for more than three years.”

  Grady nodded enthusiastically, Taos smiled, and Edmund courteously said, “My dear Doña, let me assure you that we’re all fully approving of your friendship with West.” Smiling directly at the stunning blond woman, he said, “Aren’t we, Elizabeth?” No answer. Edmund turned to his silent sister-in-law. “Elizabeth?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” Elizabeth said, choking on the words, forcing herself to smile while every nerve in her body screamed with despair and pain and guilt.

  Relieved when Grady quickly jumped in to reclaim the conversation, guiding it away from her—and from West—Elizabeth picked up her china plate, rose, and moved to the sideboard, pretending interest in breakfast.

  Atop the long gleaming buf
fet were silver dome-covered dishes. Lifting the lids, Elizabeth saw crisply fried bacon, thick sliced ham, fluffy scrambled eggs, tender browned potatoes, feather-light hotcakes, and an array of biscuits and muffins and breads. There was plenty of sweet creamery butter, small silver pots of jams and jellies and maple syrup, and silver platters of fresh fruits.

  None of it tempted Elizabeth. She was not hungry. Maybe she would never be hungry again. Dispiritedly, she laid a blueberry muffin on her plate, speared a slice of honeydew melon, and returned to the table. Conversation swirled around her, but she heard little of it.

  Any minute now West would come down for breakfast. How would he behave? Would he be as self-conscious and heartsick as she? Would he appear as awkward and embarrassed as any other man in similar circumstances? Would his habitually cocksure manner desert him this morning? Would he fumble for words, avoid looking her in the eye, and be so hesitant and nervous that the others would be sure to notice … and know?

  She soon found out.

  The door from the kitchen abruptly opened and through it stepped West Quarternight. Irascible, impatient, irreverent. Touching her, then Doña Hope, with his narrow-eyed gray gaze, nodding almost imperceptibly, then swiftly dismissing them both, he strode through the dining room calling for Grady, Taos, and Edmund with all the assurance of a lifetime of leadership.

  Unquestioning, the men rose and followed West from the room, through the big hacienda, and out the front door. Elizabeth and Doña Hope exchanged puzzled glances. The doña rose, crossed to a tall window, and pulled back the heavy wine curtains. Elizabeth stayed at the table.

  Out on the graveled driveway a pair of brown-twill-uniformed New Mexico rangers dismounted amidst a growing gathering of excited Baca vaqueros. West made his way through the crowd as the taller of the two rangers removed his trooper hat and stepped forward.

  The slim, hawk-nosed ranger shook West’s outstretched hand and said, “Quarternight, glad you’re at Rancho Caballo. We rode out to warn Doña Hope that another body has turned up.”

  Drawing a cigar from his breast pocket, West said evenly, “Go on, sir.”

  “A young Mexican woman was discovered on the plaza in La Luz before dawn this morning. The body was nude, very pale, and had deep teeth marks on the left side of her throat.”

  “Madre de Dios!” exclaimed several vaqueros, and anxiously crossed themselves.

  “Well, I’ll be go to hell!” rasped Grady Downs, stroking his white beard and looking up at Taos.

  “God in heaven!” said Edmund Curtin.

  “What about the young woman?” said West calmly. “Any family? If so, do they know where she had gone? When? With whom?”

  The veteran ranger told all he knew. The young woman had gone with her beau to a Mesilla cantina one night more than three weeks ago. While there they met a couple of Mexican charros. One was a slim, cold-eyed man with a pencil-thin mustache, the other was fat with a bad walleye.

  Drinks flowed freely and soon the slim, mustachioed man asked the young woman to dance. When the pair went out into the night together, her jealous sweetheart followed, but there was no sign of the couple. Nor of the fat walleyed man.

  “Apparently the young woman was kidnapped, taken somewhere and held captive,” the ranger concluded.

  Outraged, the growing gathering of Caballo ranch-hands erupted into loud mutterings and Spanish curses. West held up his hand for silence.

  “We appreciate your coming,” West said to the rangers. “I’ll caution Doña Hope not to ride alone.”

  The tall ranger nodded, put his trooper hat back on, and said, “I’d do more than that, Quarternight.” He glanced at Edmund. “I’d persuade the young lady with your search expedition to remain at Rancho Caballo until you get back.”

  West made no reply to that suggestion. “Thanks again. Won’t you come in and have some breakfast with us?”

  Declining, the rangers mounted, rode away, and the gathering quickly dispersed. Returning to their interrupted meal, Grady, Taos, and Edmund reclaimed their places at the table. Waiting until they were seated, West pulled out a chair, twirled it about and straddled it, resting his crossed arms on the back of it.

  Mincing no words, he said, “A young woman’s pale, naked body was found on the La Luz plaza early this morning.” He nodded his thanks to a Mexican servant when she set a cup of steaming hot coffee before him. He looked straight down the table at Doña Hope. “I wouldn’t go riding alone for a while.”

  Her answer was a question. “How long will you be gone?”

  West unhurriedly reached out, picked up his coffee cup, and said, “I don’t know. Maybe a week, maybe a month. I’ve never taken a woman into the desert before.” He took a drink of coffee.

  “Elizabeth,” said Doña Hope, “you’re more than welcome to remain here at Rancho Caballo until—”

  “Stay here, Mrs. Curtin,” West cut in, his tone one of quiet force. “Stay.” He glanced at Elizabeth and his look was unbearably cold and detached.

  The dull ache in her breast quickly became a sharp, stabbing pain. The others backed up West.

  But Elizabeth heard herself say, “I am going all the way, Quarternight, and that’s final.”

  West shrugged indifferently. The meal continued. Silent, Elizabeth sat uncomfortably close to West, more miserable than she had ever been in her life.

  Her misery was magnified by the fact that he was not miserable. Not awkward. Not embarrassed. His wry, cynical, offhand charm was as much in evidence as ever. Obviously, he was neither sorry nor upset by what had happened last night. It had meant nothing to him. Nothing. He had probably gone straight from her to Doña Hope’s bed. Or he had come to her from the doña’s bed!

  That thought sickened her. She felt as if she was going to be violently ill. Dear God, he was without scruples and she was as bad as he. No, she was worse! She was a married woman who had allowed a man, still warm from another woman’s bed, to … to …

  Elizabeth felt those penetrating gray eyes on her. She slowly turned her head.

  “Did you say something to me?” she asked as calmly as possible.

  “I said you’d better finish your meal. It’s time we hit the trail.” He slid up out of his chair, turned it back around, and added, “You do realize that we won’t be taking the wagon. You’ll have to ride a horse across the—”

  “I can stay in the saddle as long as you,” she interrupted.

  He said no more to her. While the others pushed back their chairs to get up, West walked the length of the table to his hostess. Her eyes clinging to him as he came, Doña Hope rose to meet him.

  Still angry and hurt, the blond widow sighed, laid a hand on his chest and toyed with the loose lacings of his snug buckskin shirt.

  West smiled at her, his hand came up to cup her chin, and he said softly, “Forgive me?”

  “Always,” she admitted helplessly, her parted lips eagerly lifting for a kiss that never came.

  West brushed his lips against her cheek, thanked her for everything, said good-bye, turned, and walked out of the room.

  “By doggie, we’re on the way!” exclaimed Grady, hurrying after West.

  Out on the graveled drive, the expedition was swiftly forming up. Vaqueros shouted and horses whinnied and pack burros kicked and snorted.

  Two women, one blond, one with hair of flame, turned to face each other in the rising sun.

  “Thank you so much, Doña, for your warm hospitality,” said Elizabeth Curtin.

  Doña Hope smiled weakly. “You could stay and enjoy it longer. The Jornada del Muerto really is no place for a woman.”

  Elizabeth’s smile was as weak as the blonde’s. “Now you’re sounding like Mr. Quarternight.”

  “I think you should be flattered by West’s concern.” Doña Hope defended him. She paused and added, “And perhaps you are.”

  Elizabeth made a face. “Doña Hope, I want no part of West Quarternight. You can have him on a silver platter!”

  “No,
I can’t,” said the blond woman. She smiled and added, “but then, Mrs. Dane Curtin, neither can you.”

  34

  THE SPRAWLING RANCHO CABALLO was still within sight when the mounted contingent began its gradual climb out of the Rio Grande valley into the foothills of the Sierra Caballos. Mounted astride a responsive iron-gray stallion, Elizabeth looked at the forested slopes and sandstone spires rising on the near horizon. They didn’t appear to be particularly foreboding. Not nearly as foreboding as the tanned, handsome face of the expedition’s lead scout.

  West hadn’t spoken a word since leaving Doña Hope’s ranch. In his customary place at the head of the procession, he rode the sorrel mare several yards forward of the contingent, which in itself was not unusual. What was unusual was that he never turned to glance over his shoulder, never wheeled the sorrel about to observe the long train’s progress, never gave any indication that he was alert and or even alive.

  Nor did he ride in the typical comfortably slouched position she had become so used to seeing. Instead, his back was held militarily straight, the fabric of his soft buckskin shirt pulling tightly over rigidly erect shoulders. The level attitude of his dark head never altered. He might have been a statue, carved from stone.

  Even without the opportunity to see his face, Elizabeth could easily have guessed that it was set in hard ungiving lines, the smoky eyes cold, the sensuously sculpted mouth grim. The abundant Quarternight charm was markedly missing. It had been left behind at Rancho Caballo. Elizabeth had never seen West this way and she felt a numbing chill just looking at his tense back.

  Forcing her gaze and her thoughts away from him, Elizabeth turned to glance at Grady, riding along beside her. He was going on—as usual—about something. She had no idea what; she hadn’t been listening. She interrupted him, which was about the only way to get a word in edgewise.